


exit, pursued by a beard

by nikkiRA



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, This is not my fault, i couldn't force myself to make this my first time publishing smut, nothing explicit though, there is like.....the barest hint of d/s dynamic here?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkiRA/pseuds/nikkiRA
Summary: “Okay,” Bucky said. “Your fucking beard is alive.”Steve opened his eyes. “What the hell.”





	exit, pursued by a beard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Senforza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senforza/gifts).



> For Sen, who started all of this nonsense by saying no one had ever written arm/beard fic
> 
> For Katy, the inspirational wizard
> 
> For Grace, who took this just as seriously as I apparently did

The thing about the Soldier’s arm was that it was supposed to be entirely Hydra. The rest of him had to be molded, had had to be remade the way they wanted, but the arm was all them. It was their perfect weapon – the Soldier was just the imperfect holder.

Even before he had become Bucky again, he had long suspected that maybe Hydra had bit off more than all of its infinite heads could chew. Its not that he thought it was _alive,_ or anything, not really. Sometimes it just seemed like it had a mind of its own. At first his paranoid brain had thought maybe it was controlled by Hydra, but Stark had run as many tests as had been asked of him and came back with the same answer each time – it was just an arm.

“If it looks like an arm and acts like an arm,” Stark had said, despite the fact that it didn’t do much of either.

And it wasn’t that he doubted Stark (okay, he doubted Stark. He had seen that flying car crash to the floor. Stark’s weren’t infallible). It’s just that sometimes it felt… off. Like maybe it had a mind of its own. Like sometimes – okay, the best example came from a few days ago, when he had gone into the fridge, and he wanted the strawberry jam, but he had grabbed the grape. He hadn’t wanted grape, but his hand had just reached for it, and he couldn’t make it let go. But Stark had said his arm wasn’t malfunctioning, and if he asked him to scan it again Stark would probably tell Steve, and Bucky was doing a pretty stand up job of pretending that he was a fully functioning human being who had full control of his limbs, metal or otherwise.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t tell Steve, and it’s definitely not that Steve wouldn’t understand. It’s just that he would get that soft look on his face and would probably believe Bucky when he said he was pretty sure his metal arm was trying to gain sentience and that it preferred grape jam over strawberry. And Steve believing him would make everything worse, because Bucky was definitely going insane, and why the hell would his arm prefer grape jam, anyway, it wasn’t as if it could fucking _taste_.

Speaking of Steve, Bucky had heard him come home a few minutes ago, and the mission must have been bad, because he had gone straight into the bathroom before even saying hi to Bucky, which meant he was probably covered in dirt and sweat and blood.

(Periodically, they asked if Bucky wanted to join up, wanted to fight, but Bucky was a goddamn basket case who had a metal arm that thought for itself and had jam preferences, so Bucky stayed far away from the fighting.)

He was just wondering if he should go force himself to eat when Steve barged into his room without knocking, as usual. Bucky looked up, ready to be annoyed, when –

Oh. Bucky’s dick twitched.

“Something weird is happening,” Steve said, acting as if he wasn’t standing in the doorway of Bucky’s bedroom with his shirt off, a towel wrapped around his waist, a razor in his hand and his fucking _mission beard_ staring Bucky square in the fucking face. Bucky liked to think he had this whole thing under control, but it was times like this when he realized he really, really didn’t.

“Everything about us is weird, Steve. Specify.”

Steve gnawed his lip. Bucky’s brain threatened to white out on him. Sometimes he was certain Steve knew and was just fucking with Bucky. There was no one who was that accidentally attractive.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I’ve thought you were crazy since you kicked Martin Patterson in the shins when you were nine. I’m still here.”

And here’s the thing about Steve’s level of crazy versus Bucky’s: Steve’s level of crazy would be manageable, and Bucky knew exactly what he could handle – the answer at this point was basically anything Steve threw at him. He had said to the end of the line, and he had meant it. Not that Steve hadn’t meant it, or anything, it’s just that when Steve had made that promise, he probably hadn’t been thinking that the line was more than 80 years and 65 assassinations later. Steve had taken the brainwashing and the Hydra bullshit and the fact that Bucky had repeatedly tried to kill Steve and his friends like a champ. Bucky didn’t know how far past that Steve’s line went. Didn’t want to find out if something like _my arm is growing a mind of its own and starting to act against me_ was a crazy Steve hadn’t signed on for. Or, God forbid, _I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen._ Or even _while you’re away on missions I binge watch the Bachelorette._ Any of these might be too much, so Bucky never told him any.

The point is Bucky could handle Steve’s crazy, because Steve’s crazy never involved almost sentient arms.

“I can’t shave,” Steve said, a shade too desperately for the situation, but Steve had always been dramatic. And Bucky didn’t hate post-mission beard. Bucky really, definitely did not hate post-mission beard. He was always sad to see it go. So he wasn’t al that torn up that apparently Steve couldn’t bear to part with it.

“Then keep it,” Bucky said. He really wanted Steve to leave because there was something really urgent that he had to deal with. It may or may not have been his dick.

“No, Buck, I mean – I can’t shave. It won’t let me.”

Okay, now it was getting a little weird. Was Steve looking for permission? “Okay, so then –”

“Bucky,” Steve said seriously. “You don’t understand. _I can’t shave.”_ He walked over to the bed, and Bucky deserved a _goddamn medal_ for the way he kept his eyes on Steve’s face and not let them drop to the towel. “Look.”

Steve brought the razor to his face, and then stopped. Bucky waited. “What are you doing?”

“This is as far as I can go.”

“Steve –”

“You try.”

_“What?”_ Steve was staring at him completely seriously.

“Try to shave my beard.”

“Is this a sex thing? Are you trying to keep up with the times, or something?”

“Bucky, please.”

And hell if he’s ever been able to say no to that. Bucky stood up, grabbing the razor out of Steve’s hand. “Shouldn’t you put shaving cream on or something?”

“Just do it.”

“This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever asked me to do, and you’ve asked me to do some really weird shit.” But he reached up anyway, putting the blade to Steve’s face.

Steve slapped his hand away.

“What the fuck?”

“Bucky, I know this sounds fucking _insane,_ but I swear to God I didn’t do that.”

“What are you _talking about?”_

Steve looked distressed. “During the mission, I got hit with one of Strange’s spells –”

“What?”

“He said it was nothing harmful, that he had just tried to use it on a chair to get it to hit one of the weird purple creatures –” And they wondered why Bucky didn’t want to fight with them – “And that it shouldn’t do anything because I was already animate, but I…” He trailed off. “You’re going to think I’m insane.”

“I already do, Steve. Spit it out.”

“I think the animation spell might have affected another part of me. Like… my beard.”

To Bucky’s credit, he didn’t laugh. Bucky would never laugh at Steve. Instead he took his shirt off. “Put your arms behind your back.” Steve did. Bucky moved behind him and tied the shirt around his wrists, making it secure before standing in front of him again. He brought the razor up to Steve’s face –

Steve jerked away.

“I swear to God I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Shouldn’t swear to God,” Bucky said absentmindedly. “What would your mother say?”

“I think she would be more concerned with my _sentient fucking beard.”_

“What does it feel like? You say you don’t want to do it, what does it feel like?”

“Like…” Steve thought. “Like I’m attached to a string and someone is pulling it.”

“Hmm,” Bucky said. “Close your eyes.”

Steve did. Sometimes it hurt Bucky, how easily Steve trusted him. He waited for a few moments.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, eyes still closed.

“Shh.”

When Steve had started to relax, Bucky brought the razor up to his face. Steve, eyes still closed, jumped away.

“Okay,” Bucky said. “Your fucking beard is alive.”

Steve opened his eyes. “What the hell.”

“This is what you get for cavorting with wizards.”

_“Cavorting?_ You gotta get out more, Buck, you’re going to choke on all these big words.”

“Fuck off, Rogers, that rats nest on your face is alive.”

Steve smacked him across the face. Bucky reeled back, utterly shocked. Steve was looking at him in horror.

“Bucky – I swear to God I didn’t –”

Bucky just laughed. “Apparently that rats nest on your face can also _hear._ Call your weird wizard friend and tell him to get the fuck over here.”

Steve went to go call his weird wizard friend, and Bucky ran a hand through his hair and wondered how the fuck this had turned into his life.

Steve was dressed when he came back, hair wet from the shower, beard still firmly in place. He collapsed onto Bucky’s bed. “Strange said it’ll wear off eventually.”

“Did he have any fucking idea how long _eventually_ is?”

Steve shook his head. Bucky sighed. “Jesus Christ. This is what happens when I leave you alone for a week.”

Steve rubbed at the hair on his chin. Bucky fell into bed next to him, thinking pure thoughts.

“I don’t hate it,” Steve said. “The beard, I mean. Other than the fact that it’s apparently alive.”

This is where everything turned to shit: Bucky’s metal arm reached out and rubbed the hair on Steve’s chin. Which might not have been weird on its own – they were pretty touchy-feely – except he kept his hand there. Entwined in Steve’s beard. His fucking thumb started rubbing, for God’s sake.

“Uh. Buck?”

“I’ve been keeping something from you,” he said, because there was no other way out of this situation.

“Okay?”

“I’ve kind of been losing control of my metal arm.”

Steve tried to sit up, but Bucky’s hand remained on his face, pushing him back down. “What?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, as his thumb _tried to put itself in Steve’s mouth._ “It’s been mostly harmless, so far, but, uh – I’m sorry.”

“How could you not have told me this?”

God, it was so hard to have this conversation with his thumb in Steve’s mouth. “Oh sure, just over breakfast one day, _hey Steve, my arm is trying to become its own person and also it likes grape jam.”_

“Is that we have three things of grape jam now? Seriously? No, hang on, that’s not – how could you not tell me? When did this start happening?”

Bucky tried to play this cool, but again, his thumb was in Steve’s fucking mouth. “I don’t know. A few months ago? 1950? I don’t fucking know. Maybe it’s always been like this and I haven’t been awake this long to ever notice. I don’t know.”

“You should have told me, Bucky.”

“I don’t have a magician to take the blame for this,” he said, averting his eyes. “Your sentient beard will wear off. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

“Have you –”

“Tony’s looked at it. Multiple times. He says there’s nothing there. Which probably means it’s just my fucked-up head, but. What else is new.”

Steve didn’t talk until Bucky finally met his eyes again. And then he turned Bucky’s world completely fucking upside down, because he _wrapped his lips around Bucky’s thumb and licked it._

Bucky fought in a war. Bucky fought in quite a few wars, actually. Bucky had literally killed people.

Bucky said something along the lines of “Uh-wha?” In the highest voice ever heard out of an adult man in all of human history. Steve, the bastard, _smiled._

“Didn’t quite catch that, Bucky, can you repeat it?” He swirled his tongue around Bucky’s metal thumb again. Bucky was about to have a goddamn coronary.

“What are you doing?” He had been a feared assassin at one point, he swore to God he had, even if the panic in his voice was doing a good job of proving him wrong.

“My beard is trying to give your hand a good time.”

_“Steve.”_

Steve rather awkwardly pulled off of Bucky’s thumb. Bucky didn’t have feeling in his metal arm, but he missed it anyway. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed –”

“Oh _fuck off, Rogers,”_ he said, still a little more high pitched than he would have liked. His fingers dug deeper into Steve’s stupid beard; he wasn’t sure if it was him or the arm this time. Steve laughed, low in his throat. “I can’t believe I’m telling you I’m going goddamn insane and your only response is to suck on my fingers like a goddamn pervert.”

“I don’t think you’re going insane,” Steve said seriously. “It’s possible that something was put in your arm that Tony can’t detect. We’ll ask around. Tony isn’t the only genius wandering around.”

Bucky’s fingers tightened in Steve’s beard. This time it was definitely him, though. “I can’t believe I’m telling you my arm is becoming sentient and your only response is to tell me we’ll find another scientist.”

“The beard on my face is alive, Buck. It has a mind of its own. Did you miss that part of today?”

Bucky brought his flesh hand up and smacked Steve lightly on the cheek. “How could I?”

Steve’s hand flew up before either of them were aware and grabbed Bucky’s wrist. “Uh, sorry,” Steve said, but Bucky had to admit to himself that it was probably the hottest thing he had ever seen in his life. “I think it’s a little, uh.” Steve swallowed. “Sensitive.”

Bucky felt the urge to press his lips to Steve’s neck. His arm made a weird clicking sound that he was pretty sure meant it agreed.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked and, using his flesh hand again, smacked Steve’s cheek again lightly.

Steve’s whole body moved so he was on top of Bucky, one hand pressing Bucky’s wrist into the bed, the other one beside Bucky’s head. Bucky’s metal hand was still in Steve’s beard.

“I think your beard only likes my metal arm.”

Steve lowered his head so their foreheads were pushed together. “That’s cute.”

Bucky’s fingers twisted in Steve’s beard, yanking him down so their bodies pressed together. He could feel Steve, hard against his leg. He was fairly certain he was going to actually die.

“I do like the beard, you know,” he said. Steve’s eyes were blown wide. Bucky wanted – well. Bucky wanted. “I might like it a bit more when it doesn’t hit back.” _Or maybe not._

“Careful,” Steve said. “It can hear you.” Steve suddenly got a strange look on his face. “I’m going to throw out all the grape jam.”

Bucky’s hand tightened in Steve’s beard against his will. Steve grinned, turned his head, and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s metal fingers.

“You were going to find another scientist,” Bucky said weakly.

“And I will,” Steve said. “In a bit.”

**Author's Note:**

> the title of this on my computer is just "what is this"


End file.
